


Intoxication | Can You Let It Go?

by JessicaDoom



Series: Seven Shades of Romance [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Awkward Dates, Blind Date, Community: Seven Shades of Drarry, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hopeful Ending, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Break Up, Romance, Tropes, Valentine's Day, sober harry, tipsy draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29343294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaDoom/pseuds/JessicaDoom
Summary: Draco couldn't think of a more pathetic way to be spending Valentine's Day than suffering through a blind date. Okay, perhaps there were worse ways — spending it alone, fist-deep in a box of discount chocolates, for one — but for Draco, this was an all-time low. Especially after coming so close to having something real and permanent the year before.Not that he was thinking about that any longer….It's been nine months since Draco Malfoy broke things off with Harry Potter, which is certainly long enough to move on, right? But in order to do so, he'd have to actually want to get over Potter and what they used to have.This work is a sequel to the ficHerbology | Cultivated Comfort. It is suggested that they be read in order for maximum enjoyment.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Seven Shades of Romance [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2153148
Comments: 3
Kudos: 60
Collections: Seven Shades of Drarry





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the [Seven Shades of Romance anthology](/series/2153148), the fourth in a series of collaborative projects within the [Seven Shades of Drarry](/collections/Seven_Shades_of_Drarry) collective. It is also a sequel to my work [Herbology | Cultivated Comfort](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26893804), hopefully providing the closure people have begged me for….
> 
> Chosen tropes: Intoxication, Blind Dates, Post-Break Up
> 
> I would further like to take this moment to thank all of the others in this beautiful collaboration we have crafted. This group has become a safe space to me and they are truly some of the best friends a girl could ask for. They've been so patient and understanding and uplifting during this chaotic time in my life. There are no words to truly explain how much this support means to me. It's always going to be an honor to be published anywhere amongst these other super talented authors.
> 
> There's also a playlist created for this anthology that can be found [here on Spotify](/3tIY5TG); one song for each of the seven fics included in the collection
> 
> Accompanying song: "Lo Vas A Olvidar" by Billie Eilish & ROSALÍA.

* * *

I.

Draco couldn't think of a more pathetic way to be spending Valentine's Day than suffering through a blind date. Okay, perhaps there were worse ways — spending it alone, fist-deep in a box of discount chocolates, for one — but for Draco, this was an all-time low. Especially after coming so close to having something real and permanent the year before.

Not that he was thinking about _that_ any longer….

He was moving on, and it was about damn time. He'd discovered Potter had already done so over five months ago, which had only set Draco backwards in his own recovery. However, the time for wallowing and moping about was over. It was time to try again.

"You look great."

Startled to remember he wasn't alone, Draco nervously raked his hair back from his face and met his roommate's gaze in the mirror. With a simple shift of his shoulders, he transformed before their eyes from a nervous wreck into his most favoured, confident façade. It truly was remarkable how adept he was at hiding his truth. "Darling, don't I always?"

Astoria rolled her eyes and shoved at his shoulder. "Just yesterday you were walking around the flat in your pants while elbow deep in a pack of crisps."

"And I looked _great_ while doing it." Draco grinned at their reflections before swiftly turning and blowing out the rest of his anxiety on a rushed breath of air. "Do I really look okay, though?"

He'd opted for a slightly casual look — dark wash jeans, a black V-neck t-shirt, and the floral blazer he'd fallen in love with through a vintage shop window. But now that the outfit was on and matched with his nicest black loafers, his whole image felt wrong. The navy of the blazer washed him out even more than usual, and he didn't like how dull his usually-silver eyes looked in contrast to the pop of the pink and yellow flowers. Draco wanted to present a good first impression, hyperaware of how he was still perceived in certain circles. And he so badly wanted this to go well.

He just wanted to move on already.

"Sharif always looks like he dressed himself with his eyes closed, so I would say you look a great deal better than he will."

"Comforting to know my standards have apparently fallen so low," Draco grumbled as he all but slumped down on the edge of his bed.

Unfazed, Astoria took his place in front of the full-length mirror mounted to his wardrobe. "He's very sweet, Draco," she reassured while swiping a mascara fleck from her cheek. "Even if he was absent the day they taught you gays about fashion…."

Draco fully succumbed to the idea of flopping back on the mattress. "I'm going to let the stereotyping pass, simply because I know you're trying to help."

"And because you love me," Astoria stated smugly as she turned back to face him. "You would forgive me of murder without even a second thought. Now, come on, you don't have any more time for dramatics; you're going to be late."

No more than three minutes later, Draco was being practically pushed out their front door. He'd hardly had time to ensure he had his wand, let alone to assess whether he was truly ready for this date or not.

Most people would argue that eleven months was more than enough time to process a relationship he had chosen to walk away from. And, rationally, Draco would be inclined to believe the same…if he had even bothered to try the processing bit.

This short stroll from his walk-up to the pub was the most Draco had allowed himself to even think about what moving on might actually mean. All the memories he was going to have to let go of to make room for new ones. The feelings he was going to have to dismiss in order to give himself to someone else who truly deserved him.

But the hardest part was that he still, somewhere deep down beneath all the grief and torment, felt like Harry Potter deserved every single unworthy bit of him.

Draco physically halted his steps, gritting his teeth and clenching his hands into fists inside his coat pockets. Steeling himself. This was why he couldn't stand to think about these things; it was impossible to start over when all he craved was to go back in time.

Huffing a disgruntled noise at himself, Draco forced his feet to move again. He rolled his shoulders, determined not to allow the past to ruin his new shot at happiness this time.


	2. Chapter 2

II.

In the end, it turned out Draco didn't need to help ruin his date — it was already doomed from the start. That isn't to say, he didn't at least try to make it work. And things did start off promising enough.

Draco found his date waiting just inside the entrance, saving him any humiliation of trying to find someone he didn't know…in a room full of people he didn't know. For once, he was grateful to have had his face infamously splashed across the papers after the war, turning at the timid, "Draco Malfoy?" muttered the instant he walked through the door.

He put on a gentle smile, ever aware of how he was expected to be perceived, and turned. For what it was worth, Astoria hadn't embellished her description of Sharif. He was a few inches shorter than Draco himself, which he found strangely endearing (and not just because Potter had been shorter than him and he missed that dynamic). He was also blessed with soft facial features, making him appear kind and sympathetic. But Draco was finding it difficult to focus on that with those vibrant green eyes looking him over. They weren't quite the same shade of jade as Potter's, but they were trying very hard to be similar, which was annoyingly distracting.

As soon as he could manage it, Draco refocused his gaze, taking in the man's choice of date attire — a cardigan he might as well have stolen from his grandfather, a graphic t-shirt with a logo Draco didn't recognise, and cargo khakis, all paired with _sandals_. In February. Draco cleared his throat. "Sharif?" he questioned politely, extending his hand and cursing the way its shaking betrayed his nerves.

Sharif smiled warmly and shook his hand just once before gesturing towards the tables. "Shall we find a place to sit?"

Crooking a brow at the formality of Sharif's words, especially amongst the relaxed clamour of the pub, Draco nodded and followed his date to a table just close enough to the bar to be convenient, and yet irritating in its lack of privacy.

Everything simply went downhill from there.

The most inexcusable thing? The guy ordered for him. He didn't wait for any input; he simply hopped up from his chair, walked over to the bar, and ordered Draco a Negroni. Knowing next to nothing about his date, Sharif had decided upon first glance that Draco was a gin drinker, and Draco had to pretend like he was grateful for the gesture when all he really wanted was a good stout. He sipped politely at the cocktail, already itching to leave even while attempting to live up to his personal promise to at least _try_.

"So," Draco began, doing his best to keep his voice even, "you work with Astoria?"

As it wasn't really a question, Sharif simply nodded and stirred his Vodka Cranberry.

Draco tried again. "What drew you to—"

"Oh, please don't ask that question." Startled, Draco barely managed a raised eyebrow in response. "You're going to ask me why I chose to work in childcare. And if you do, I'll have to pretend I have a passion for children when, in reality, I just needed a job and they happened to be hiring."

The smile plastered to Draco's face began to deflate as he studied Sharif for a hint of humour. Mostly, he was just coming off as disinterested, which really wouldn't have hurt so much if Draco weren't actually so desperate for this to turn out at least amicably. "I suppose," he paused to clear his throat, "that's as good a reason as any to be employed."

For a long moment, Sharif studied him back. His gaze roamed across Draco's moisturized face, down his vintage blazer, settling on his freshly manicured nails. He nodded slowly, posture stiffening. "I'm sure you wouldn't know the feeling." His tone hinted at a light-hearted joke, but the sentiment didn't quite meet his hardened expression.

Draco, who had been effectively cut off from his family both financially and physically for three years now, bristled and white-knuckled his glass. "I assure you, that assumption is unsubstantiated," he muttered, knowing any timbre louder would betray the frustrated shake to his voice.

Sharif nodded and pointedly stared at the table. Their conversation stalled, strangled once again by the weight of Draco's childhood. He cleared his throat, looking around the bar for distraction. Big mistake. All around them were couples, evident by meaningful glances and light touches — a slap-in-the-face reminder of his current situation and how badly he was failing at "getting back out there".

He attempted to save the date, pretending the awkward start had been due to nerves. "I've never been on a blind date before," Draco admitted, hoping to come off as playful and self-deprecating. "I've never had to start completely from scratch like this, so I'm really not sure where to begin. Should I ask you your favourite colour?"

"It's orange," Sharif supplied, just barely looking up through those thick lashes. "If that was, in fact, you asking."

"Let's say it was." Draco pushed aside his drink, using the guise of intimacy to cover his desperation to be rid of it. "Orange, like sherbet, or—"

"No, like an orange. You know, the fruit?" Once again, Sharif cut Draco off mid-sentence, swiftly bringing the edge back. "Wouldn't sherbet be like a peachy pastel-type colour?"

Draco had to physically hold his breath to keep from hissing something harsh. He counted to five before slowly letting it out, feeling only marginally calmer. "Right, of course. How could I be so stupid?" Except he couldn't quite contain all the sass, not that he found he particularly cared in that moment. His will to try had dissipated, and now he was just ready for this to be over and done with. "Look, Sharif, you seem like a nice guy—"

"But you're not interested." Sharif actually looked crestfallen, and a slimy feeling slid into Draco's belly. He readily blamed it on the gin.

"Maybe it's just too soon for me? You know, to get back out there?" Some part of Draco believed this to be true, so it wasn't too difficult to sound genuine. Some part of him still held out hope for a future he'd given up on. Some part of him might have been sabotaging this date just to avoid moving forward with his life.

But a larger part of him was screaming inside that Sharif was the one who seemed wholly uninterested himself. So…fuck him.

Sharif was on his feet in a heartbeat, forcing a smile through his hurt and anger. "At least nobody can say we didn't give it a shot."

Draco merely nodded, unsure if they really even had.

As soon as Sharif had so much as turned around, Draco was on his feet and making a beeline for the bar. He ordered the darkest beer they had on tap in the largest size they offered, tipping the bartender generously out of sheer gratitude.


	3. Chapter 3

III.

Although Draco wouldn't say he was happy to be sitting amongst a room full of happy couples after the disaster he'd just fuelled, he couldn't help but find himself content to simply be sitting on his barstool, drinking something that didn't taste like dirty dishwater. He was also content in the thought that "getting back out there" was a lost cause and perhaps he should just give up on it altogether. It wouldn't be the end of the world to be alone for the rest of his life. At least he'd always have first pick at what to have for dinner.

Perhaps if he couldn't, or rather _shouldn't_ , have the one person he truly wanted, being alone might be the next best option. Perhaps, eventually, he could learn to be okay with that.

"Forgive me for salting your wound, but that didn't look like it went well…."

But this, running into the man he dreamt about at night, certainly wasn't going to help him on his way to being at ease with his situation. Every time he looked up and found Harry Potter standing there when he least expected it, his heart skipped a beat and broke all over again.

Taking a steeling breath alongside a deep drink of his beer, Draco searched for an appropriate response. Something suave and easy. Something which wouldn't betray how vulnerable he was feeling at the moment.

"What you saw, Potter, was, er—" Draco cleared his throat. "Oh, that was nothing. I just wanted to, uh…get rid of him. It wasn't working. You know how it goes. Dating and…and all that…."

Okay, nope, that wasn't it. Not at all.

To his credit, Harry— No, _Potter_. Always Potter — it hurt too much to fall back into the intimacy they had developed. _Potter_ tried to hide his amusement, but he never really was all that adept at policing his emotions. "Sorry to hear that. Dating can be difficult." He smiled, something dark like sadness shifting across his eyes for just a moment. "And on Valentine's Day, no less. Ooph, that's gotta hurt."

Before he could stop himself, Draco lashed out, "What are you even doing here?" the implication of an accusation hidden behind his tone.

If he was surprised by Draco's tone, Potter didn't let on. He merely raised the takeout bag from his side with that same cheeky grin, knowing the gesture would be enough of an explanation for someone who used to know him so damn well.

Draco visibly relaxed. "Ah, yes, your endless search for the best chips in London. I almost forgot."

"How dare you."

For a moment, Draco could almost believe things were back to how they used to be. He could almost pretend that being in this bar with this man was a purposeful act. It was a deluded thought, but once it was nestled into his alcohol-softened brain, he found himself smiling and succumbing to the fantasy. "Why don't you have a seat?" he said gently, scooting the barstool beside him out with his foot. "I'll buy you a drink and maybe we can test those out together. Just like old times?"

In the too-long few seconds it took for Potter to think over the suggestion, an unclouded hesitancy to his expression, Draco internally scolded himself. He couldn't believe he'd even said that, really. His words echoed back to him, sounding twisted and strange. Muffled and slurred. He hadn't even had all that much to drink yet, but it was going straight to his head. Which he supposed was bound to happen when he'd skipped both lunch and now dinner.

"Actually, I'm sober now."

The denial swiftly pulled Draco from his own head, the effect of his carelessness sending him reeling in a different direction. "Oh…wow, good on you. Cheers." He quickly saluted with his drink before desperately raising his glass to his mouth and chugging the remainder of his beer. He signalled the bartender for a refill, gratefully using any excuse he could find not to look back up at Potter.

An annoyingly loud screech accompanied Potter's decision to sit down anyway, much to Draco's surprise. He pointedly kept his eyes elsewhere until he had another stout in hand, chasing down his previous one with a couple shots of whiskey for good measure. By the time he did finally take the leap to meet Potter's gaze, he found that the man had already unpacked the contents of his takeaway onto a placemat of napkins between them. Like a picnic in the middle of a crowded bar.

Potter uncapped the small tub of ketchup, completing the display and looking quite proud of himself. "Can't remember the last time someone sat down with me for one of these taste tests. It's almost exciting, even with the present company."

"Anyone ever tell you you're a smartarse?" Draco asked with a smirk, plucking one chip from its box and holding it aloft.

Potter did the same, waiting for the signal. "My boyfriend used to, all the time…." He winked, and Draco's heart dropped into his stomach, effectively sobering him up just enough. "But, I'll admit, it has been a while since anyone did."

The last time Draco had endearingly called Potter a smartarse had been…. Well, it had been long enough ago. At least the nine months since their breakup, but likely even longer than that. Those last few weeks they had been together had been rough. They were fighting all the time, leaving little to no room for endearing insults or other such intimacies. But now, it felt like he had never stopped. It was like a reflex ingrained in his memory, raring and ready to go, even after all this time.

So, of course, he had to spoil it, lest the feeling get out of hand. "Then what does the new boyfriend call you?" Draco asked amid the "go" signal, a nose wiggle well practised and mastered as a child.

The last time Draco had seen Potter was still vividly stuck in his mind. That greenhouse at the end of Diagon Alley, so lush and green and warm. It hadn't been as awkward or horrifying as he thought seeing his ex-boyfriend after such a tumultuous breakup might be. Being around him again had actually felt comfortable. And seeing him now wasn't so bad, either, aside from that fluttery feeling in his stomach and the constant need to prove he was still his same, desirable self.

But the part which had been difficult to handle was that Potter had seemingly been moving on. He had made himself perfectly at home in Longbottom's little cottage behind the shop, as evidenced by the scent of his cheap cologne lingering on its surfaces. Although he had denied that his current relationship was anything serious, Draco had heard enough about how sweet the couple were over the next few months to negate that statement. Especially after their supposedly romantic night out at the DMLE Holiday party a couple months back.

Except for the smallest of eye twitches, Potter didn't so much as react to Draco's attempt at dropping back into reality. He shoved a chip into his mouth, chewing it for a moment before pulling a face. "Oh, no."

Draco, who had forgotten to eat on his own signal, leaned in a bit closer. "What?" he asked, breathless.

"Oh, no no _no_." Potter looked around him quickly before ducking down and spitting out a mouthful into a napkin. He surveyed once more to be sure no one had seen him, flushing just barely pink in the cheeks. "They really should be ashamed of themselves with that."

The graceless snort which erupted from Draco's nose ended up drawing more attention than Potter's little toddler antics as several people, the bartender included, turned around to see what could be so funny. He waved them off with an "everything's just fine" grin before dropping his forehead into his hand. He wasn't near sober enough to keep from dipping into delusion about this night and how perfect things could be if they just….

"They can't be _that_ horrible." Draco abruptly interrupted his own stream of consciousness before it could go too far. For further distraction, he shoved his waiting chip into his mouth and immediately pulled a face. "Oh no," he echoed around the bite, also at risk of spitting the mass of potato out into a napkin. Knowing he would never save face if he did so, Draco grabbed for his pint and swallowed the mashed lump down with his last few gulps.

"That was bad," he stated plainly as he all but slammed the glass down on the bar.

"So bad," Potter agreed.

"I don't know how it could be both crispy and soggy at the same time?"

"And _salty_ but also lacking flavour?"

"And I feel like there was a burnt taste. Did you get that, too?"

Potter nodded, a cheesy smile plastered across his face. "I think that's the worst one I've ever had. It'll be a night to remember, at least."

"Yeah…yeah, it will." The corner of Draco's mouth twitched and he realised he was copying Potter's dopey look. He swiftly corrected this by covering his mouth and feigning a small cough. He also averted his eyes for good measure, distrusting the telling way his pulse jumped. He had spent nine months getting over Harry Potter, and yet, here he was, throwing every single second of that away. How stupid could he be?

"You know," Draco started once he regained a semblance of his composure, "I should probably get home. If I stay, I may just drink myself into a hangover. And if I'm going to do that, I may as well be in the comfort of my own home where I can't make any other poor decisions."

"Or, at least ones that won't be public."

Draco looked up from the dregs of his glass to find Potter's smile noticeably subdued. Was it possible he didn't want this moment between them to end either?

"My thoughts exactly." Draco chuckled half-heartedly and threw down a handful of Muggle banknotes to cover his tab and then some. "Well, Potter," he began, using the excuse of buttoning up his coat to not meet the other's eyes, "it's been an interesting evening."

"Let me walk you home." Potter's suggestion came out forceful and kind all at once.

Draco frowned. "All right, but aren't you staying in the opposite direction?" He pointed one way, thought about it a moment, and ended up pointing the other way with a nervous chuckle. "In Diagon?"

A strange, unreadable expression flitted across Potter's face. "No. C'mon." He hitched his head towards the door and gave Draco only a second to decide if he was following before turning around and heading out.


	4. Chapter 4

IV.

For the first couple minutes, they walked in silence. There were about a hundred questions Draco _wanted_ to ask, but he just couldn't find the courage to voice any one of them aloud. Even with the alcohol coursing through him, making him warm and his steps bouncy, he was just too scared to know the answers.

Thankfully, Potter broke the subtle tension in that comforting way he had, cutting right to the chase with no bullshit. "Neville and I…we weren't working out."

Draco's breath caught in his throat.

"I have nothing bad to say about him, and our relationship wasn't serious, anyway." Potter paused and cleared his throat. "Which probably sounds like I just didn't care, but I did. I _do_. We're still great friends, Neville and I, we just weren't working out as partners. We weren't right for each other."

"Were _we_ right for each other?"

The question slipped out before Draco could hope to quell it, effectively bombing any attempt at keeping the topic light.

"On second thought, don't answer that," he backpedalled. "Forget I even asked."

Potter honoured his request and graciously ignored his question. "If you could call it that, we 'broke up' shortly after Christmas. So, yeah, I'm back at my lonely, oversized home on Grimmauld Place. As you can understand, I'm not too eager to get back to it, hence the whole…'walking you home' ploy." He grinned up at Draco, bumping their shoulders. "It's just as much for my sake as it is yours. I keep your drunken arse from getting taken advantage of, and you keep me from going bonkers all by myself in that house. Win-win."

Draco couldn't stop his loose muscles from returning the smile. "And here I thought you were just being chivalrous." He raised his voice, shouting at a much louder than appropriate volume considering the late hour, "Alert the presses — Harry Potter is a selfish twat!"

From up above, somebody hollered back through their open window, "Nobody cares!" Which, for some reason, was the funniest thing Draco thought he'd ever heard. Luckily, they were paces away from his front steps, because seconds later, he devolved into a fit of laughter so violent he had to sit down.

"N-nobody— Nobody… _cares_ ," he barely managed to breath out between cackles. He looked up at Potter who was trying very hard not to crack his composure. Draco forced himself to calm down just enough to let him in on the joke. "It's true, Harry; it's _true_. People like Rita Skeeter, they think we all care what you're up to every hour of every day, but we don't. Nobody cares!"

"Well…some people care…." Potter scuffed the toe of his trainer against the ground. "Not that I'd rather they didn't care, but there are people who do. I still get fan mail, you know."

A harsh slap of nostalgia hit Draco right across the face. He stilled, remembering the simpler times when they would sit cross-legged in Potter's living room, taking turns trying to find "award-winning" letters amongst the pile of fan mail he'd received over the years. Once, Draco snuck one of his own hand-penned letters into the pile, forcing Potter to read every flowery and romantic word of it until he went misty. The letter was given the Hopeless Romantic award, usurping the previous title holder — an elderly woman from Latvia. Potter even went so far as to frame it upon his bedroom wall.

"I'll bet you do," Draco choked out through a clog of emotion, determined not to go from laughing lunatic to crying lunatic in two seconds flat. "Well, uh…." He stood up on the step, forcing him to look down at Potter even more than usual. "Again, it's been an interesting night, and thank you for walking me home…." He was all set to force himself to say goodbye, but something stopped him. Something no longer deeply buried. Something desperate. "You know, if you wanted to catch up a bit more, you could come up for a nightcap?" He frowned. "Or just some tea, since you're doing the whole…not drinking thing. I'm flexible to…to whatever."

Draco held his breath for Potter's reply, studying his face for any sort of tell. All he received was the same still, serene smile. "I should actually probably get home, myself," Potter said softly, taking a step back. "It was nice to see you again. Really."

Nodding absentmindedly, Draco turned towards his door. He knew a rejection when he heard one, even if the tone behind it was kind. "Get home safe, Harry." Draco could hear that his voice sounded sad. He didn't know how to hold back the emotion any longer.

"Draco." Draco paused in his steps up to the front door, his heart aching at the plea hidden away in Potter's voice. "I really am sorry. For everything."

The worst part was that Draco knew Potter was being sincere.

"It's why I'm sober now. I wasn't a nice person when I was drinking or smoking. I wasn't…I wasn't good to you. I wasn't good _for_ you. Not back then. And I just need you to know that I'm—" Potter's voice cracked and broke off. Draco just barely resisted turning around before Potter whispered, "I'm sorry, Draco. I'm so, so sorry."

When Draco finally plucked up the courage to face Potter again, he found the man on the step just below him. "Oh, _fuck_ ," Draco mumbled, his hand on his swiftly beating heart.

"Sorry, you just looked a little wobbly," Potter chuckled through his waterlogged throat.

The alcohol coursing through his veins combined with that tearful apology did have Draco's knees buckling. "I'm fine," he lied, shaking his head to clear a bit of the fog. "Look, Potter—"

"I think we should talk about this another time." Potter's hand was at Draco's elbow, guiding him gently towards the door. "You're not in the right frame of mind for a serious conversation."

"Tomorrow?"

There was no hiding the surprised smile that flitted over Potter's lips at Draco's suggestion. "Maybe."

"I'm going to need a pretty hearty breakfast in the morning…," Draco hinted.

"Sure, I'd like that."

Potter let Draco into the unlocked house, saying a soft goodnight and promising to pick him up at a reasonable hour the next morning. Draco, his heart significantly lighter than it had been earlier in the evening, stumbled his way towards the kitchen.

Without a contrary thought, he helped himself to a celebratory handful of chocolates from the open, heart-shaped box on the counter. Eating them felt significantly less pathetic than he'd anticipated, especially considering the way his night had begun. He had failed miserably at that blind date, but the end result hadn't been so bad.

In a way, it felt like he had the closure he'd never been able to grasp at these past nine months. Potter had apologised to him before, back at the greenhouse, but somehow this felt different. This felt like an apology crafted out of intense retrospection.

This felt like Draco was ready to forgive him.

This felt like they could start over and finally be happy once again.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the [Seven Shades of Romance anthology](/series/2153148), a series of Drarry fics inspired by the romantic spirit of Valentine's Day.
> 
> There's also a playlist created for this anthology that can be found [here on Spotify](/3tIY5TG); one song for each of the seven fics included in the collection.


End file.
